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 that I know—this is of course entirely between ourselves, but I happen to know that Ernest is much attached to another person, quite a hopeless attachment, but so it is; he is very much in love with—a married woman."

" More shame for her. It is a pity she does not see him now," answered Mrs. Douglas, still preserving her coldness; " she would be thoroughly mortified, and it would do her a great deal of good. I have no patience with married women and their lovers."

"Oh! but you mistake me, dear Mrs. Douglas; I would not have you suppose for an instant, that because Ernest is in love with, this person we are alluding to, she has ever thought of giving him the slightest encouragement."

"But it is what I do suppose, and always shall believe. Lady Portmore. I am not speaking of Colonel Beaufort individually. I never met him before, and shall not very much care if I never meet him again; but I shall always suppose that when a man makes love to a married woman it is entirely her fault, and it gives me the worst possible opinion of her."

"My dear Mrs. Douglas," said Lady Portmore, growing quite warm in the argument, "I do think you are a little too severe. I am sure I know some instances of married women, who are quite surrounded by admirers, who yet have conducted themselves in the most wonderful manner."

"I dare say they have," said Mrs. Douglas, significantly.

"I know several instances myself, and very wonderful women they are. I cannot bear them."

"Ay! but I mean in the most exemplary manner. Now, Mrs. Douglas, only last year I knew a person, a married woman, very much admired," sinking her voice modestly, "who had reason to know that a man whom she met constantly in society was very much in love with her. He was in her opera box every evening, met her at every party